


Facade

by Esspe



Category: Three Days Grace (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but consider it around 2011, ignore the brackets this fic was hasty, nonspecific era, rated mature but there is explicit mention of sex happening just doesn't encompass the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esspe/pseuds/Esspe
Summary: This was literally just a fic that spawned off of a fairly intense joke about Adam not being able to use his words or emotions correctly.
Relationships: Brad Walst/Adam Gontier, Bradam
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Facade

**Author's Note:**

> This was literally just a fic that spawned off of a fairly intense joke about Adam not being able to use his words or emotions correctly.

Everything was firing at once, it was all in working order. The crowd screamed a ring into Brad’s ears, they sang along to the proper words and everything, from start to finish, fizzled out the way it always did. Brad stalked the stage in his usual way, haunting a corner of the stage that Adam would frequently visit. Adam did visit, playing off of the energy, both of the men bouncing rowdy grins off of each other. It was the middle of a song went Adam bounded up behind him. Brad was prepared, focused on playing the notes and singing his additional parts to the song. With one motion, Adam’s arm rested around Brad’s neck, only slightly pulling him off balance. However, mid-note, Brad felt Adam flex harder into the motion and Brad had found himself lucky that he’d belted out the remainder of his verse. Adam dropped his right hand… and exhaled a rough breath down the side of his face – stone on stone. In one second, Brad was hanging helplessly in the crook of his bent arm, sucking in a breath, and then Adam let go. As he trailed away, he let one hand linger near Brad’s waist where his playing had caused his shirt to ride up. It was a feather’s touch, a teasing finger along the protruding band of his underwear, but it was enough. Adam looped back around and shot a glance to Brad, winking and running the faintest tongue tip over his top lip. _Shit._ Brad pulled his mouth away from the microphone to stifle a noise that the crowd of thousands didn’t need to witness. Brad played it off easily, stomping backward from his post near the front half of the stage, but his mind was having a harder time now focusing on the correct notes. Fuck the encore.

  
The rest of the show was explosive, but Brad was silently thankful that it was over. In a haze of adrenaline, Brad flicked the picks into the crowd, removed his bass, handed it off and leapt down the side stairs. Neil remained onstage. For a few moments he baited the crowd and then exited down the same side as Barry, opposite of Brad. He took a few fleeting moments to catch his breath, dabbing the sweat from his forehead and exhaling deeply into the towel he was given.

  
“Shit rocked, man,” Adam’s gravelly laugh neared Brad, but to his dismay, no one else answered. In micro-movements, Adam’s demeanor didn’t quite change as much as his stage presence melted away slowly as he stood there. At first, he didn’t acknowledge Brad, but he was fairly preoccupied with drying his own sweat. Brad draped his towel over a shoulder and stretched his hands and arms out in front of him. Adam loomed like a shadow just beyond on the lights onstage, inked to the wall. Brad started for the bus lot. Adam didn’t seem to move much, and didn’t really seem like he wanted to which struck Brad as odd. “Dope, huh?” Adam’s voice was tilted and there was a laugh clipped to the end of his question that was entirely manufactured. More of a “hm” than anything resembling true glee.

  
“It kicked ass,” Brad chuckled, “I love the energy here; it’s always a great show.” He wondered why now, of all times, Adam was choosing that moment to contemplate the show when he was ordinarily the first back and the first to shower. The backdoor swung wildly on its hinges – Barry and Neil had joined some of the [other crew guys] in grabbing beers and heading back to the lot. Brad made a step in the same direction.

  
“Hey, wait.” Adam huffed, more out of breath now in silence than he was before. It filled Brad’s ears and he struggled not to match his own breathing with the tempo of Adam’s. Something about Adam’s mood was more solemn than usual, but Brad wasn’t about to pry. He was experienced in knowing that Adam usually only told half-truths and even then, they were heavily embellished. Brad was far too energized to play that game at that point or to stand there much longer. Brad nodded as Adam remained quiet and headed towards the door that Neil had left through. Adam didn’t interject this time.

  
Thankfully, the night’s booker set them up at a hotel. They were on the final leg of the tour before heading back home, so Brad was rightfully exhausted by the prospect of having to share the bus another night with the other guys. He just wanted to shove his head in a shitty pillow and fall asleep to complete silence, not to various sounds of a bus divided between semi-drunk men. Brad spent an hour or so sharing a beer with the guys in the bus as it caravanned to the hotel, an event Adam was physically there for, but mentally absent from. He laughed along with the others, answered various questions, involved himself in stories, but as soon as the attention had turned away from him, the crack in his veneer widened. “Ah, yeah. Fuck that place’s food,” he laughed around an inhale of smoke, leaning over to tap the ash from his cigarette in the shared tray. Barry began a lengthy story about nearly getting stuck in an elevator with all of their equipment, a story which Adam laughed at. Brad saw how quickly he bounced his leg, or how an arrant hand would pass over his thigh in a fast, sweeping motion. The solemn version of him that Brad had faced backstage was slowly evolving into an animal pacing in a cage, but one that didn’t quite know what it needed. The reverberations of Adam’s anxious fidgeting bounced Brad a bit in the seat next to him, but hadn’t yet caught the attention of anyone else. He couldn’t quite decipher what was riling him up - his first thought would be the need for a smoke, but Adam was currently seducing his third of the night, so the thought was short-lived.

  
It was about a twenty minute drive to the hotel. Some had spent the time drinking, not getting drunk, but more celebratory. Some had even tried to catch some sleep in the short drive. Adam tacked himself to the same seat for the entire drive, one arm draped over his face. Brad would have assumed him to be asleep if it weren’t for the continued knee-bouncing. His other hand laid over his stomach, his fingers twisting around and around in the cloth of his shirt like they desperately needed something to do. It had been a while since Brad had seen Adam so damned restless and the last time was during the pre-show of the opening stop. Brad smacked a card down on the table, allowing his focus to reappear during the game of Kings in the Corner than Neil and [other] had started up. A Blue Jays game - or at least the replay of one - unfolded on the small television in the bus. Brad knew that Adam was at least partially listening to it due to his occasional cussing at the game highlights.

  
“Fucking Purcey,” Adam spat, sitting up and perching his elbows on his knees. “Literally can’t save a game worth shit.” Neil chuckled in response, but didn’t add much else until the bus had stopped and [tour manager] was let off to give notice to the hotel concierge. Adam stood, pulling his arms above his head in a semi-pretzel shape to stretch and then paced to the back of the bus to grab his backpack. Brad followed suit with the rest of the guys as they got the go ahead to head into the hotel.

  
“They better have put us on different floors, I don’t even want to share a hallway. I’m done.” Neil remarked. Adam barked out a laugh, loaded with his anxious energy as if he was silently urging Neil to walk faster, talk faster, leave faster so that Adam could get off of the bus.

  
Rooms 9-12 and 16 and 17. Neil took 9, Barry had 10 and the rest of the guys ambled into the elevator to disperse onto the second floor. The elevator ride was short enough, but while tired and feeding off of Adam’s restlessness, “short” was akin to a fuse. As the doors opened, the guys headed to their respective rooms. A now-hooded Adam peered for a mere second down one length of hallway and then jaunted down the other, backpack slung over one arm, the other hand rolled in his pants pocket.

  
Room 16 was solace. A gigantic fucking bed, but thank God, he had it all to himself. A goddamn shower. Brad melted away from his clothes and scrubbed the show from his skin, head starting to spin in the steam along with the beers he drank earlier. He had to pause a few times to press his head against the tile to still himself. His heart still raced from the show and each time he closed his eyes, the first thing that came back was the roar of the crowd, not the need for sleep. In fact, that seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind. Brad assessed this. He could order a movie or a small snack from service, but he thought better of it and resigned himself to a quiet night with whatever television the hotel had to offer.

  
Brad was toweling himself off when the room’s phone rang. It was undoubtedly someone wanting to catch a late night round of drinks, so he decided to let it ring. He wasn’t tired, but he wasn’t exactly willing to get any more inebriated than he already was. He was lounging in bed when it rang again. Brad snatched the phone from the cradle. “Jesus—, hello?”

  
“Nope, just me.” Adam’s voice was disguised only slightly by the crackle over the line. It was laced with humor, but sleepy, Brad noted. “Is it just me or does the tv suck here?” He could hear a heavy sigh over the phone.

  
“Hm, I was zoning out, to be honest, so I wasn’t really caring about what was on.” Brad laughed into the receiver, but made eye contact with the mirror behind the tv and shrugged to himself. No, mirror-me, I have no idea why he needs to call either.

  
“Do you wanna hang for a bit? I’m too pumped to sleep.” Brad fought a groan, about to turn him down, but Adam beat him to an answer. “Yeah, fuck it, I’ll just chill in your room, why not?” Brad could hear his grin over the phone like Adam was getting a kick out of potentially disrupting Brad’s night. The intonation to his voice led Brad to believe that something was on his mind, he could hear it in the impatient way he cleared his throat. However, it wasn’t like Brad wasn’t used to it. Late nights on the bus were occasionally spent playing some stupid game on the X-Box or one of the many card games they had learned, so Brad was used to Adam’s phantom-like presence. He was always around until he wasn’t. This, for the most part, was normal.

  
What wasn’t was Adam knocking as quiet as he did on the door only a minute later. Brad felt the need to open the door slowly as if to steel himself for the type of Adam that awaited him on the other side. The soft knocking Adam was not one he was expecting judging by his earlier antsy behavior. This Adam was in sweats, clean, but shoeless. He edged himself inside the room, Brad backing up only to turn back to the tv once he had almost decided that Adam was alright. Adam took a lap around the room, surveying it and then, with a finger, he parted the shades and looked outside. Brad busied himself with flipping through the channels, pretending to not see how Adam bounced himself up and down on his feet and couldn’t keep himself from anxiously patting his hands on his thighs.

  
“Dude, take a seat, damn-,” Brad said, his temper waning as Adam finally sat down in the chair at the table about a foot away from the bed. Instead of going back to channel surfing, Brad watched Adam for any signs of a crack. This sort of behavior existed normally before shows, but always faded by the end back into an Adam he recognized as being quieter, not quite as lingering as the one earlier that night backstage, but not one as alight as the one that was sitting in his room. Brad had seen it growing over the course of the night, and even still, he could see the rubberband of Adam’s body language being stretched and strained until it was desperate to give. Adam leaned back in the chair and let his head fall back, Brad watching this display unfold. Only then, did Brad start to piece together that the behavior had developed during the show - the featherlike touch on his hip during what was an ordinary action - and was starting to churn up something in Adam. Brad didn’t need the reminder of what that had done to him. He discounted it as being generally touch-starved, and that was that. Life on a bus, after a while, became a dance of walling as much of yourself off as possible so you could retain a vestige of privacy and along with that came the incredibly unforgiving gnaw of arousal that ached in the back of your mind until - thank God - something distracted you. Brad felt it, everyone felt it. It was dealt with, sure, but in a way that merely bookmarked the ache until later because what was really needed - something shared - was something that always had to wait until a tour-leg was completed.

  
Brad blew out a breath and leaned back on his hands. Nearly as soon as he did so, it seemed as though Adam tapped into Brad’s revelation and his taut and sporadic nature rocketed back and every line of Adam’s face read: Fuck. Sitting still was an act harnessing every ounce of power within him. Brad’s insides roiled and the same sound he had stifled earlier in the night danced at the base of his tongue.

  
Adam scrubbed his face with his hand, tangling it in his hair afterwards. The exact restless energy Adam had been displaying all night was taking place right then times ten-thousand. Adam’s hands gripped and ungripped the arms of the chair in a vain attempt to keep them exactly where they were. Brad’s eyes burned holes into them. Adam was an animal in a cage, but not one chewing his way out - one waiting for something else to chew in.

  
With one hand, Brad turned the volume up on the tv in an attempt to distract Adam, to potentially allow for it to become enough of a proverbial vacuum so Adam could do or say something other than sit there and writhe in his own skin. Creeping to the edge of the seat, Adam let his head hang between his legs. Brad watched the smooth curve of his back expand with a breath, one edged with a low, hollow note.

  
“I’m not going to beg you,” Adam said after leaning back up, clenching his jaw and sending his leg bouncing wildly. Brad could tell by the fervent grasping of the edges of his shirt that he was probably mere minutes away from doing exactly that.

  
Brad set himself, his breathing admittedly uneven. “You’re probably going to have to.” Like the burn of a tired muscle, a deep-seated ache started nagging in his stomach as soon as those words were said. Adam’s fingers moved from fixating at his shirt down closer to the band of his sweatpants.

  
“Ah, God, I fucking hate you so much,” Adam laughed shallowly, but his face remained pressed into seriousness, “I’m not that desperate.” Even that lie looked ugly on his face. Brad shrugged in response and utilized every goddamn muscle to turn back towards the tv. The moment Brad settled in, Adam dropped his head again and repeated himself, this time a markedly different. “_Oooh_, I fucking hate you.” Brad had snared him. He wanted to say ‘so this is what you’ve been all fucked on all night’, but he just leaned back and raised an eyebrow at Adam.

  
Adam crossed his leg, still bouncing the higher knee. With each breath, getting progressively more labored as they spoke, Adam poked the tip of his tongue out and tapped it to the edge of his lip. Brad peered at him like he was merely relaxing, beginning to not hide how hinged he was on Adam’s words as he hoped he’d be. “I don’t know, just go…” Brad gestured succinctly with his right hand, a motion that Adam watched with an emotion nearing ferocity, “you know.” Adam frustratedly rolled his head around on his shoulders, but wasn’t defeated yet. His eyes glanced quickly over Brad’s lap. Brad knew that what he had suggested wouldn’t quite strum the same chord that Adam intended. Adam responded with a defeatist “Oh fuck off” and stood up, his hands clenched hard.

  
Brad stood up to meet him, sending a half-defiant stare in his direction. Adam solidified there, anticipating _something_, but getting nothing and having to shake the untended energy back out of him with a sharp groan. It one half hearted gesture, Adam stuck out his middle finger and turned for the door. Brad snatched his hand midair and pressed it between them.

  
The unraveling of Adam began when Brad relented and messily mouthed at the hollow of his throat. Every inch of Adam then fought to stay standing long enough to get started, his hands grasping desperately at the idea of what lay underneath Brad’s pants. As Brad’s teeth found small holds of skin at a time, he could feel a growing moan spring-loaded in the back of Adam’s throat. Adam took a free hand and tilted Brad’s face up from his jaw and crashed their lips together and almost as soon as Brad’s tongue swept between his, Adam released a shivered, low sound that seemed to start at his toes. Brad kissed harder through it, moving both hands to hold the sides of Adam’s face. Adam arched back into the curve of Brad and in response, Brad fisted at his hipline, squeezing fairly hard to get him to focus. It had its desired effect, and also elicited an even stronger noise from Adam.

  
“Hurry the fuck up, I could’ve come twice by now.” Adam hissed, watching Brad anchor his hand down his sweats. Brad pursed his lips and reached down, pulling the drawstring of his own pants.

  
“You would have already, then. But you here you are.” Brad let out a breathless ‘hmph?’ up at Adam, searching for a reaction and getting one in the form of a muted ‘jesus christ’ and a stalled thrust into his hand. Brad grabbed Adam’s hand that was currently clenched at his side and allowed it to wander until it found Brad’s cock and was slowly put to work. Brad huffed rigidly and pressed his open mouth into Adam’s chest, vaguely annoyed at how readily aroused he was. Brad fought to keep focused on Adam.

  
Adam impatiently pushed against Brad the more he worked at his cock, but he kept up the pace. Brad once again found himself struggling to not match Adam’s breathing, but more-so struggled this time when every other exhale of Adam’s was an exaggerated moan. Brad reached up with an unoccupied hand and pushed the dampening hair out of his face, his stomach giving an excited start as he saw the full view of Adam’s flushed skin. He kept decently stroking Brad, even stopping for a second to lick his palm and continue, to which Brad responded by bucking quicker into his hand. _God damn it._ Brad mimicked him, slicking is own hand and allowing the newfound wetness to pull even a slight shakiness to Adam’s demeanor. Adam’s unraveling was nearly a pile of threads on the floor.

  
For a fleeting second, Brad contemplated just dropping to his knees to suck him off, growing increasingly tired with having to rewet his hand for the right amount of spit, but as he made the move, thumbs pressing into the softness of Adam’s hips Adam moved his free hand and knotted it in Brad’s hair. Brad winced, but unloaded a moan and returned to his feet, countering my pumping even faster as Adam’s cock.

  
Between short huffs and groans, Adam curled his upper body in and nuzzled his face in Brad’s neck, his pace at Brad’s hipline slowing until it disappeared. Brad continued at the same speed until Adam jerked away from his hand, taking one large step back, chest heaving. “Come on,” Adam’s hands fisted in the air, “not just that.” Brad blinked for a moment, watching how Adam’s dick hung, hard, untouched. Adam followed his gaze and was racked with another frustrated burst of energy when he saw Brad’s eyes caught there. The unbridled restlessness escaped in how Adam pulled at shirt, the small necklace at his neck, hands tracing down his abdomen just only hovering around his cock. Brad’s own ached with the absence of Adam hand. He could easily just make Adam watch him finish himself off. It’s true, Adam would come - that was inevitable- but the teeth-clashing of that certain arousal would never be quieted to the extent that Adam needed.

  
Adam closed his eyes and seemed to meditate away the quickly oncoming orgasm, grunting away the pit in the seat of his stomach and for a moment, Brad thought Adam would just come right there, unaided, but the flush on Adam’s face returned along with the same frustration as before, this time threatening to swallow him alive. He seemed to want to claw at his thighs, pushing his pants all the way off. Brad let him before finally speaking.

  
“You seem like you were close, though. Were you close?” Brad panted finally. Adam growled and tried in vain to put his pants back on in a way that’d hide how hard he’d become. It didn’t take a genius to know that Adam was half a second from coming right before he pulled away from Brad. Brad could see it in the way Adam’s forearms started to shake and how fast he was thrusting into Brad’s palm. Frankly, the energy it took Adam to pull away inflicted a level of hardness in Brad that hadn’t been there before and listed towards pain. Brad cussed breathlessly and didn’t dare touch himself again. Adam was running fast hands over everything, his chest, thighs, hair. The way he tugged at his pants pulled the hem over his cock, exposing it only slightly. They groaned in near-unison and Adam caught Brad’s reaction this time.

  
“It’s fucking different than that and you know it,” Adam pointed, and Brad was too weak to deny it. Adam wouldn’t need to pay someone to fuck him, but the lingering touch from the show and the restlessness spoke volumes about how different this gnawing at him was. Brad was aware of how different that arousal was, but when it clashed inside him, it was fairly easy to let subside. The lines of Adam’s face and body language of someone set to go off told a story of someone who’d been fighting a losing battle for far too long. Brad approached Adam, still largely out of breath. He was holding it to Adam - Brad would and could, without question, but when the same tide came in for Brad, would Adam do the same? The nearer Brad got, the more Adam fought to not force himself against him. With the effort, Adam whined, and Brad slowly worked his sweats back off. If possible, Adam was harder now than before. It seemed as though the very idea of Brad’s hand around his cock again brought him close to coming, so Brad made quick work of removing the remainder of Adam’s clothes and then his own. Brad didn’t want to rush it, but longer he drew it out, the more agony Adam seemed to be in. He knew it was killing him, but the primal part of Brad was painfully turned on by how much Adam needed to be taken care of.

  
Adam snaked onto the bed, knees hardly holding the weight of his body, head pressed to the sheets and now he was completely exposed to him. Brad fumbled in his bag and retrieved the near-new bottle of lube he had remembered to bring along for a reason that hardly mattered then. Brad pulled himself up behind Adam, priming him with a spit-wet finger. If Adam lasted beyond this, then Brad would be amazed. Even just the pressure against his ass seemed to be too much at first, but Brad was slow and was rewarded by how much Adam seemed to want to brace back onto Brad’s finger.

  
“F-fuck,” Adam lulled, his lower body shaking. He had completely abandoned his need to stroke his dick for relief and just defrosted into the bed, hands outstretched, but still fairly rigid. Brad applied to fingers and occasionally supplemented Adam’s aid with placing the flat of his tongue against his ass. The warm billows of breath caused Adam to twitch and groan, so Brad pulled away entirely and dispensed a generous amount of lube into the curve of Adam’s ass, reapplying a finger with much more ease. Adam felt this, too, and involuntarily ground himself against Brad’s hand.

  
“Stop,” Brad hissed, having to squeeze his own thighs together against his erection to quell the orgasm that Adam’s actions were bringing to the surface. Being told to stop caused Adam to ring his hands together so tight that white blossomed at the knuckles.

  
“Are you fucking waiting for the moon to fall from the sky or,” Adam’s statement was split by an extremely breathy moan, “or do you need fucking permission?” He pushed himself back up onto his arms and retrieved the pillows from the bed, packing them against his lap for either leverage or for something to fuck in the meantime. By that time, Brad had aligned himself against Adam’s ass, teasing only slightly with the head of his cock before pushing in.

  
It took a couple of pivots before Adam completely unfurled before Brad, grinding further against his dick now than he did with just a finger. Oh, fuck it. Brad lunged behind Adam and thrust in deep and even deeper the second time. On the latter motion, Adam bucked into the pillows he set up fairly hard and unleashed a moan that rivaled the sound of the loud tv. Brad took this as an invitation to speed up, and so he did, being rewarded with a string of unintelligible exasperations from Adam. Brad peered at Adam’s face. It was pinched together, but not in pain. His skin was flushed and beads of sweat collected near his line, eyebrows drawn up in an expression of pure relief. Brad would slow in a test to see how quiet Adam would be before reestablishing a hold and coming at it from a different angle. Adam pounded at the bed with a fist, getting hit for the first time in the g-spot. It was an awkwardly efficient position for Brad. With each time Adam felt the surge of firing nerves, Brad could feel him tense around him, so he’d continue in the same spot, shift and come back to an even louder response. Adam had quickly found the pace that was right for him, and it was on the desperate side of fast, but was rhythmic and pleasurable for Brad. Before long, Brad was struggling with each thrust to not come.

For a minor distraction, he traced his hands along the expanse of Adam’s back, trailing small circles with the tips of his fingers. Adam shuddered and bit away a decent moan at the mere touch of Brad’s hands, and ground against Brad again in an attempt to hold him inside. Brad stopped pivoting and sat there, shaking with a strengthening orgasm as Adam moved his own body in the desired ways. Adam sighed heavily, his voice hitching as he rediscovered the right spot. He let Brad move again with every micro-movement, Adam let out more noise. Brad followed suit, feeling the nagging heat in his stomach, and without being able to stop now, thrust into Adam relentlessly. Just when Brad was sure he was going to come first, Adam sat fully back on Brad’s cock and contorted his body, hand going to his own for the first time. He racked with the climax, uttering noises Brad had never heard from him before, even alone and began to come. With that, the crest of the orgasm hit Brad, plunging him deeper into Adam. Adam released an appreciative growl, “fucking christ Brad”, as Brad finished and Adam rode out the shaky remainder of his orgasm. Just removing himself from Adam sent his nerves wild again. Adam slumped against the bedding, letting his knees fall finally as he buried his head in the blankets, cloud of black hair contrasting with the white of the sheets. Brad stumbled from the bed, legs remarkably weak, and grabbed the towel from his earlier shower to clean up.

  
Adam slid to the side of the bed and glanced up at Brad, pressing his mouth into a hesitant line of a smile. Brad’s own, purely excited, smile fell at this look. He wasn’t expecting Adam to look so pensive after getting fucked. Adam’s sigh was unsteady and laced with emotion that Brad hadn’t heard since before he became restless.

  
“What?” Brad asked, his heart still pounding in his chest. Adam’s eyebrows pushed together hard as he just stared at Brad. Something about the structure of it struck Brad as extremely vulnerable and attractive. Adam was at ease, he could tell that by how he sat there, completely still. Adam chewed a bit at the inside of his bottom lip and tilted his head away, voice cracking.

  
“Shit,” he said, blowing out a shaky breath to steady himself, “if I had asked, would that have changed anything, or do you fuck that good regardless?” Adam chuckled, but Brad wasn’t entirely aware of why he was burgeoning tears. “Ah, god damn.” Adam laid back and just sort of gazed that the ceiling, his eyelids heavy and glistening now. Brad wanted to kiss them, but stopped himself from taking any steps closer.

  
“Do you regret that already?” Brad asked, meekly. Adam sighed again and looked directly at him, eyes somehow far brighter when rimmed with tears. The crack in Adam’s exterior was dust now, Brad could see right into it. Here was a man who needed him and Brad was dismissive.

  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Adam let a hand trace over his lips, savoring something else other than the sex. Savoring the touch for a little longer. He sat up again and Brad could read every genuine emotion on Adam’s face. “You spend too much time on these,” he gestured vaguely around him, “and you feel disconnected.” Adam opened up just long enough for Brad to take a glimpse inside. “Sometimes you crave something real.” Brad nodded and said something half-hearted before giving up and kissing Adam again, perhaps for the last time.


End file.
